


Why the last batch burned and what Thorin had to do with it

by Saraste



Series: Holiday ficlets 2016 [26]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: (but not that of a rolling pin... which is... no I'm not writing that), 2016 Holiday Ficlets, Baking, Domestic Fluff, Dwarf Culture & Customs, Fix-It, Improper & Smutty use of a kitchen table, Kitchen Sex, M/M, bagginshield, gingerbread cookies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-12 11:08:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9068977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saraste/pseuds/Saraste
Summary: Bilbo is baking. Thorin is distracting. Bilbo might have a fantasy. Innocent gingerbread cookies pay the price.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [katajainen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/katajainen/gifts).



> This is an almost late Christmas gift-fic for [katajainen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/katajainen/pseuds/katajainen) for being a wonderful sister and indulging my often silly fandom prattle. *big hugs* Sorry it isn't OT3 fluff. Maybe in June?

Bilbo was baking. 

 

This was not a new occurrence. Some would say that a  C onsort  U nder the  M ountain who also baked was a trifle odd, but as the hobbit in question produced such sumptuous delicacies for the consumption of those  that  he held near and dear, thus showing he could provide and that his skill was sound, his baking was counted as his craft. And a consort who had a craft they loved to indulge in was not so very odd, if one put it like that, even when it  _was_ baking.

 

The line of Durin were among those who mostly profited in Bilbo's craft for baking and (which most Dwarrow often overlooked) good cooking, chief among those one Thorin Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain. It was all well and properly so, for was Bilbo Baggins not also the Consort to said King?

 

But now, Bilbo was baking.

 

He had already  r olled his dough into a sheet and was picking up a cutter from among the ones  which had been lovingly crafted to him by his husband, who was more than happy to keep his spouse in cooking implements, and it  _was_ more than proper for Thorin to supply his husband with them as he had the skill to craft them. The material may not have been what Thorin normally crafted,  given the material demands of baking, but he had adapted and provided his love with any shape he had shown a preference for, as an early Yuletide gift,  as Hobbits called what Dwarrow named as Solstice .  Thorin had been rewarded for his efforts with a kiss and a hug which led to more, making them miss the proper lunch hour. Yet as Bilbo had a kitchen of his own in where to putter around it did not matter so much.

 

Now it was past lunch, and tea time, and Bilbo was baking. He picked a heart from his selection, blushing a little. For someone who professed not to be very romantic, Thorin was sometimes so obvious with his affection. The heart was Bilbo's favourite, along with the varied stars and animals that Thorin had made him.  And flowers.

 

Bilbo had the heart-shaped gingerbread cookies in the oven by the time his distraction made his grumpy kingly entrance into the kitchen. 

 

Said grumpy king was ignored for the time being as Bilbo went on with his current occupation, taking out a new batch of dough and his rolling pin and getting back to work. 

 

Thorin grumbled and sighed and radiated bad mood,  enough so that Bilbo eventually had to ask what in Arda was wrong.

 

'So, which one was it this time? Or was it someone else?' It was usually people, not situations, which made Bilbo's husband huff and puff so. And Bilbo could listen while he baked. He had only waited for Thorin to speak in an attempt to get out of  the  role of coaxer. Thorin needed to learn to speak up. But today seemed to not be that day for his royal grumpiness.

 

'Are you sure there is no possibility of producing an heir between us?' Thorin asked with a weary sigh.

 

Bilbo spied him from the corner of his eye and saw that the King was fiddling with the pans, ostensibly checking for damage in need of repair or some such thing. Thorin  often  felt  that  it  was easier to talk if he had something to occupy his hands, which also meant that he was  _very_ loquacious in bed. Not that Bilbo minded. 

 

Bilbo pressed stars onto the rolled-flat gingerbread dough, hiding his smile behind his over-grown hair. There _were_ braids in it, of course, and a particular one with black hair interwoven into it, but it still was free enough to provide some cover for the expression on his face. 'You knew who you married  when you married me and you did not marry me with heirs in mind,' was his reply. 'Which of them has been particularly difficult?'

 

Thorin let out a very loud exhalation of breath, grunting in irritation to make his point. 'Both. I grow weary of them and cannot wait for Dís to get here.'

 

'Have they always been so?' Bilbo asked, brushing the hair from his face, and smearing his cheek with flour in the process. He then went to check the oven for the cookies baking within.  If the process gave Thorin an eyeful of his bent backside, then so be it.

 

His husband chuckled. 'Yes. The perils of our travails kept them in check somewhat but this peace-time has unleashed their mischievousness once more. You have to keep in mind that Kíli in particular is barely regarded as an adult.'

 

Bilbo still found that fact strange as,  when counted in years, Kíli was actually his senior. Not that the lad acted like it, far from it. He pulled the cookies from the oven and was startled by the hands suddenly around his waist. 

 

'Careful,' Thorin said, neatly saving the cookies from a tumble to the floor by gripping the baking sheet bare-handed. As a smith he was used to high temperatures but also possessed the rare gift of fire affinity, which meant that he could grip things that were so heated it would have left others,  even some Dwarrow, with blisters. 'We don't want these on the floor.'

 

'And whose fault, may I ask,  would  that have been, hmm?' Bilbo asked exasperated, craning his neck and looking up at his smugly smiling husband. Yet he was glad that Thorin seemed to be getting over his mood, sometimes he sulked something awful and on those occasions Bilbo despaired (mildly) over his decision to take up with the King. That always lasted only until their most recent kiss, which always evaporated all thoughts of ever leaving or never having had married Thorin, as it reminded Bilbo of the love he felt for Thorin, exasperating personality traits aside.

 

'Yours, of course,' the infuriating dwarf replied matter-of-factly, 'for you should really have better reflexes and not startle so very easily.' The words may have been border-line rude but the kiss nuzzled into Bilbo's curls belied their meaning.

 

'Oh,' Bilbo countered, 'I rather think it would have been all your fault had these ones ended up on the floor. Anyway, budge, you, I need to put the next batch in the over.' 

 

Thorin obligingly put the cookies down onto the big table on which Bilbo was working. He seemed to be all innocence and with no ulterior motives in regards to parts of Bilbo that he'd rather like spending more time with than watching his husband bake. Even if they both knew that the King took joy in seeing his husband engaged in something he really liked doing, liked the small smiles and little exclamations when things came out just right. Thorin just was partial to bodily contact, was the thing.  Craved it often enough, really. And who was Bilbo to deny his husband, when such a thing was wanted?

 

Bilbo felt  Thorin's gaze on his body while he worked, even if Thorin made to appear like he had  _not_ been looking every time that Bilbo tried to catch him at it. It was exasperating, even while it was also flattering. But thankfully the King seemed to be able to keep his hands to himself long enough  for Bilbo  to  finish  rolling and cutting the last batch of the gingerbread cookies. He would put frosting on them later when they were all done and might do some other type of baking before  supp er. 

 

With t he last batch in the oven Bilbo was already absent-mindedly thinking about what more he still needed to bake to make it a proper Yuletide feast. The main kitchens provided things for the Dwarven celebration of Solstice but a Hobbit Yuletide was quite a different matter, even when there was overlap between the two. Hobbits were more inclined to baked goods even when there was always quite the spread of traditional dishes whereas Dwarrows seemed to lean towards rich meat-dishes and an over-abundance of ale,  although most were also very partial to mulled wine .

 

And then there  we re hands on him again and fingers and lips and he bec a me a King's armful of Hobbit in the space of a breath.

 

'Thorin...' Bilbo d id not grouse. He does not.  Well, maybe a little. But he ha d been in a baking sort of mode and Thorin  wa s distracting. 

 

'Yes, azyungêl?' Thorin ask ed with no shame whatsoever, lips insistent to become firmly affixed to Bilbo's neck, fingers trailing to untie and unlace and make Bilbo come undone. Impossible Dwarf!

 

Bilbo's train of thought  wa s utterly and irrevocably lost  when those wicked lips  we re pressed against his pulse, making it race and he fe lt Thorin slipping a warm familiar hand under his shirt. Bilbo shiver ed and move d against his husband, gasping as the lips c a me up, trailing kisses  over his skin .

 

Finally, their lips  we re pressed together and Bilbo forg o t  _everything_ but the Dwarf before him, and the lips on his own, and the ache of his loins. 

 

'Thorin, we are in my kitchen…' a certain very proper Baggins part of Bilbo trie d to reason before things g o t completely out of hand. 

 

But there  i s no stopping a determined King when they  we re bent on getting their husband out of their clothes and lost to pleasure. 

 

'And a very nice kitchen it is,' Thorin replie d cheekily, his voice a pleasant rumble, fingers everywhere as he move d down to kneel at Bilbo's feet. 

 

Bilbo's hand move d out to rest atop a dark haired head, just resting there, not hindering nor encouraging. Yet it seem ed to be encouragement enough for Thorin. He open ed the laces of Bilbo's  trousers and t ook him out.

 

The hobbit  was trapped with his back against the edge of the table, hands gripping the edge convulsively. Thorin  wa s at his feet, holding him, grinning up at him. 

 

'Do not tell me, my dearest,' Thorin sa id , 'that you have not had ideas of this sort ever before? Your kind favour good food and drink so much one would think that it would give you certain sorts of fantasies.'

 

'By that reasoning you should dream of us doing things of this nature in your forge… Ah!' 

 

Thorin continue d to lick at Bilbo, to entice him towards full hardness. 'No. A forge is no place for such activities, it would not be safe. Your kitchen, however… You are always already such a feast to me…'

 

Bilbo  wa s engulfed in wetness and he gasp ed and care d nothing for anything but Thorin's mouth on him. He was fibbing when he  had  denied never having thought of something like this. The smells of his kitchen surround him as Thorin t ook hi m into his mouth and Bilbo  got lost to how  _right_ it feels. He ha d always appreciated the comforts of home, especially his kitchen, and now, to have his husband,  _his husband_ , doing this to him here of all places, in a kitchen provided to Bilbo as a courtship gift. Thorin's provider's gift, which should always be something that took into consideration what the intended recipient found important and would be most happy with, and now here Bilbo is, engaging in activities that should be relegated to a bedroom. ( It's all lies , for they have done it in the Great library of Erebor a few times, scarring poor Ori for life the one time the young scribe caught them at it…)

 

'Thorin…' he gasp ed , delighted at that flick of tongue right where he needs it. Perfect. Absolutely perfect. 

 

The King hum med around him, hands coming into play to speed Bilbo along, not that Thorin needs it to aid him. In this particular activity Bilbo's smaller stature is to his advantage as Thorin can fit  _all_ of him into his mouth without undue strain. It is one of the most unique pleasures of Bilbo's life these days.

 

However, Thorin move d his head and stop ped . Bilbo's fingers tighten ed on his hair, close to yanking at it.

 

'Don't stop.'

 

'Was not my intention, gh î vashel, I merely wanted to ask if you had any particular fantasies you wanted to indulge in, for you do not fool me. I  _know_ you, if you recall,  M y Burglar.'

 

The way he sa id it ma d e Bilbo's toes curl. It  wa s a misnomer more than anything, for the one and only thing that Bilbo ever properly stole was Thorin's heart. Though it may not have needed stealing in the first place as he was apparently the King's One. Though One's were not completely the same as soul mates, not the way Thorin had explained it. Yet Dwarves loved only once and if that love did not come to bloom they did not try again, for they could not. Once given to someone, even if it was not accepted, a Dwarrow's heart was given and could not be gained back. It is not so with Hobbits but Bilbo has  _no_ intentions whatsoever to leave Thorin now.

 

He couldn't anyway, for it isn't just about him, now. 

 

And oh, yes, there might be a fantasy or two. Quite possibly. And Thorin  _had_ asked, one did not keep things from their spouse when asked straightforwardly. 'There might,' he admit ted . 

 

Thorin's breath  wa s hot on his hip, on the wetness cooling on his member, teasing more than anything. Too much yet not enough. Almost. Bilbo squirms, knowing full well how stubborn a certain King can be without even trying. All the more so when he  _does_ . Ridiculous! 

 

'I might like to,' Bilbo t ook a breath to steady himself, 'have you laid out on the table and…'

 

He's interrupted by a hot fierce kiss as Thorin knock ed the stuffing out of him with his passion, devouring him. 'You truly desire such a thing?' Thorin ask ed .

 

Bilbo could but nod, not trusting his voice. 'Then you will get what you desire,' Thorin declare d .

 

*

 

Bilbo had Thorin laid out over the sturdy wooden table top splattered with flour, was buried deep inside his body, taking his time in living out a fantasy. The king was pliant under his touch, giving his hobbit the control he wanted yet without giving in completely. He _is_ Thorin Oakenshield, after all. He  met Bilbo thrust for thrust, gasping in Khuzdûl when it felt particularly good. They took their time, lazy and content in the cosy atmosphere of the kitchen, kissing and murmuring to each other until both are utterly spent.

 

'Good?' Thorin ask ed , pushing Bilbo's somewhat flour-streaked strands of hair behind his Hobbit's ear.

 

Bilbo's hand is splayed over the stickiness o n Thorin's belly as he st ood between Thorin's legs, the king sitting on the edge of the table. 'Like you couldn't tell.'

 

'Was it all you dreamed it would be?' Thorin queried. His hands seemed to be intent on roaming  all  over Bilbo, his shoulders, his hair, his neck. 

 

Bilbo leaned into the touch, looking up a bit hesitantly. His nose twitched at the smell of burning cookies but paid that no heed  to it for the moment, they were blackened now anyway, a few minutes here and there would not make a big difference. 'Yes.'

 

It's a good thing that Thorin leans down at that moment to kiss him as that is just what Bilbo wants, and as his King is so obliging Bilbo d id n't need to rise up to his tip-toes to do so. Thorin is warm, hands settled around Bilbo, his kiss deep and loving, beard tickling as always. But a bear d tickle on the face is nothing, a bear d tickle below the belt… Bilbo's body ma de a half-hearted attempt to rouse for a second round, but it's still a bit too soon. He may want to take things into their bedchamber anyway, although...

 

*

 

They make it to the bedchamber, eventually, and get gingerbread crumbs all over the sheets. 


End file.
